Letters From the Past
by AquaAdept
Summary: Professor Longbottom is just beginning his job at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and the work is getting to him. But what will he find in his memories of the past?
1. Of Susan and Snargaluffs

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**Yes, this is a pairing fic, but you'll have to read on to discover more. I don't want to spoil any more.**

* * *

Professor Longbottom sat at his desk, patiently flicking through the mound of letters he had received since the start of term. It had been his first year as Herbology teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and it had been tough on him. 

Sometimes there was so much to be done, he didn't know where to begin. Paperwork seemed to apparate into the filing cabinets in his office, chewing up more space by the day. He ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair, whilst absentmindedly drumming his quill against a scrap of parchment.

But he loved teaching. He had taken some time previously in the Ministry of Magic, working in the 'Department for the Control of Magical Plants'. Not that he didn't like the job, in fact it proved fascinating, but Neville hated the stuffy atmosphere of the place. Hogwarts was were he truly belonged. In fact, he could say at a gander, he was happier now than at any other time of his life.

Except for one thing. Students kept him busy most of the day, bustling around between greenhouses, directing first years to their Huff Spurts, and occasionally dealing with the odd injury. But company in the long hours after school hours was what he really craved. He had often considered buying a pet for himself, but Trevor, still as youthful as when Neville was a boy, seemed to suffice.

Neville sighed, glancing out of the window as the last traces of crimson leaked from the afternoon sky. He turned his head suddenly. He thought he could hear a soft, very quiet tapping noise coming from outside his door. Listening again, Neville shook his head. Nothing. Turning again to his pile, he picked up a letter in his left hand, flicked it open, and began to read:

_Dear Neville,_

_How are you doing? I hope you got over that burst of Honeknok Fever, I really do! They can be evil little things! Just thought you'd like to know where I am. Rolf and myself are doing fine, in fact I'm sure we'll find sign of a Crumple Horned Snorlack any day soon! Rolf's sure people have seen strange signs around here, mostly from muggles lost in the bush. Sometimes the outback can be a little scary though. I remember last night I tried going to the loo, and there was a spider THIS big on the rim! Eek! I never liked those icky things anyway!_

_Hope you can write again soon!_

_Love, Luna_

_xxxxxxx_

_P.S, Rolf's sent a sample for you to analyse. He thinks its from a Snargaluff tuber, but I can't believe he can be so silly!_

Neville rummaged around on his desk, finally settling upon a rather battered looking envelope. Shifting his hand inside, he let out a small yell as what looked like a pale green worm flopped from it, leaching mucus onto the floor. 

"Yup", he thought to himself, "definitely Snargaluff."

Picking up the tuber and placing it into a nearby jar, he felt deeper into the envelope. Eventually he removed a photograph of a man and woman, arms held around each other, smiling up at him from the Australian Outback. Like all other wizarding photographs, it moved; the man and woman, both of whom had equally fair hair, jostled slightly, grins spread across their faces.

Neville noted the preposterously large pith helmet the woman seemed to be wearing, as well as her garish earrings. "Yes," he said to himself again, folding the photo and letter back inside the envelope, "definitely **Luna**."

Placing the photo back into its envelope, along with Luna's letter, he shifted it to one corner of the desk. "Great," Neville thought. "One down, five hundred odd more to go."

He paused for a minute, penning his thoughts. Snargaluffs? That reminded him of his old Herbology lessons under Professor Sprout. Interesting, to say the least…

* * *

Professor Sprout walked briskly up and down between the sixth year students. Many small, stump-like plants were spread out between them. Occasionally some pulsated, but for the most part them looked totally harmless. But, as a restless sixth year made a grab for it, thick, bramble-like vines extended from it, wrapping themselves around the student's hand. He yelled, and Professor Sprout bustled over. She pointed her wand at the boy's hand, and the vines instantly retracted, leaving large scratch marks all over his hand. 

"That is why, Mr Finnegan, we wear gloves," she said simply, glaring at him.

Determined not to repeat Seamus's example, a sixteen-year old Neville Longbottom carefully took his dragonhide gloves from out of his school bag. Quietly eyeing up the plant, he pulled them on. He felt his head, knowing he had forgotten something important. Fumbling on the workbench near him, he found what he was looking for, a pair of goggles. Strapping the leather straps around his head, he felt ready at last.

Feeling determined, Neville positively jumped forwards. Instantly the think vines flew from the top of the Snargaluff again, battering at Neville. He ducked his head, and made a lunge for the hollow in the plant that had just become visible through the branches. Vines grappled for his face, some cutting him across it, but Neville fought through them. Heaving, he threw his hands into the hole, seized a grapefruit-sized green object, and quickly withdrew them.

Sensing danger was over, the stump instantaneously reverted back to how it was before. "You're a nasty one," Neville thought, looking down at the now deceptively innocent looking stump. Wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his palm, he looked up to see Professor Sprout smiling gently at him. Turning her head, she frowned at Harry Potter's group, and marched over. "Quiet enough chat over here!" she said sternly, looking at the three who were deep in conversation. "You're lagging behind, everybody else has started and Neville's already got his first pod."

"Okay, Professor," said Ron, sitting next to Harry, "we're starting now!" Neville shrugged apologetically at them. They did have one advantage over him however. Smart as he was at Herbology, it would've helped to have a partner.

Turning back to his work, Neville quietly dropped the pulsating pod into a small round bowl. He looked up, however, when Professor Sprout quietly coughed above his head. "Mr Longbottom?" she said, looking quizzical.

Neville was confused. "Yes, Professor?"

She looked knowingly at him. "You do not have a partner, yes?"

He nodded quickly. He could really do with some help with those annoying brambles.

"In which case, could you please help with Miss Bones?" Sprout added, gesturing to a rather exasperated looking, red haired girl in the corner of the greenhouse, with many cuts across her face and forehead, her yellow Hufflepuff robes covered in dirt. "She doesn't have a partner either, I'm afraid. And I'd hate to send her back to her mother blinded," she added, Neville noting that Susan was not wearing goggles.

"Oh," Neville nodded. "Sure, Professor!" In any other subject he might have been more than a little wary of helping anyone else. But he felt able here. Grabbing his bowl in one hand, he slowly weaved his way towards Susan.

She was still struggling with her stump. Susan looked slightly confused, her right hand extending backwards and forwards in mid-air in mid air, withdrawing it sharply when vines waved towards it, only to gingerly thrust it back towards the plant again.

"Erm, Susan?" Neville spoke up, looking shyly at her face screwed up in concentration.

"Huh?" She looked up suddenly, seeming slightly shaken. "Oh, hi, Neville." She rolled her eyes and grimaced at the Snargaluff, before turning to him. "I hate these things."

"I dunno," replied Neville, his eyes seemingly fixed on a space just above her left shoulder. "I, erm, thought you were pretty good at Herbology actually."

She raised her eyebrows. "Neville, I'm totally rubbish. Charms is more my thing, anyway." She glared down at the plant. "Ideas?"

"Well, there's two of us," Neville said, still strangely unable to meet her eye. "Maybe we could go in together. I was thinking that one of us could distract it, and the other grab the pod."

Susan bit her lip. "Sure, but who's gonna do what part?" she asked.

"I'll distract it," he said. "He was surprised; his voice was peculiarly definite.

Susan nodded in agreement. "And I'll grab a pod. Sure."

She looked ready to begin, but Neville still noticed her lack of goggles. He coughed slightly. Susan looked up confused. Neville, slightly bemused, pointed at her forehead. She smiled at him, mouthing 'thanks', waved a large strand hair out of her eyes, then leaned down again.

Neville was now slightly worried. He coughed again. She looked up, her expression stuck somewhere between confusion and irritation. An idea seemed to flash across her face, and she bent down, searching through her satchel. Finding what she was looking for, she stood up, and with slightly more force than she would usually have, pushed a large packet of muggle cough sweets into Neville's hand.

She had just bent down to begin again, when Professor Sprout's voice carried across the greenhouse. "Miss Bones, will you please put on your goggles! Its extremely dangerous to leave them off." Susan turned redder than a gurddyroot, and hung her head slightly, whilst Sprout continued. "Now class, back to your projects, if you will!"

Susan looked up, still bright red. "Sorry," she muttered. "Don't know what I was thinking…" she muttered, her voice trailing off as she stared at him.

Neville met her gaze, beaming. "Don't worry. Happens to me all the time. I remember in potions when I forgot the nettles once. Snape went totally mental with the mess I made. I think he would have made me drink it actually," he said, laughing about what at the time had seemed such a terrifying situation. No wonder them that Snape was once his boggart…

Susan was still giggling, as he fished inside his bag, and handed her a spare pair of goggles. They didn't fit too bad either, she thought, as she looked at her tall partner through the lenses.

And they were off. Neville enjoyed Susan's company. For once he had found a partner who not only understood him _perfectly_, neither taking advantage of his knowledge, nor sidelining him, but was also quite funny. He was sniggering loud enough to attract stares from people opposite, and even forgetting the slightly sickening smell that rose up as he mashed the collected pods, revealing the ugly tubers.

The lesson ended soon, and Professor Sprout called above their heads. "Please, put all your pods collected into the bowls provided, and store the tubers in the jars!"

There was a great rummaging, as students hurriedly stowed their bowls containing the slimy pods on a bench set against the greenhouse wall. Neville, holding another bowl full of the wormy tubers headed to a large jar, upon which was written: 'N. Longbottom & S. Bones'. She opened the lid for him, and Neville poured the writhing mass inside.

She took a long look at their handy work, and pulled a face. "Yuck. Told you Herbology wasn't for me."

The bell started to ring, and the class began to remove their goggles and gloves, and packed their bags. With a quick smile to Susan, Neville headed back to where he had left his bag.

Hermonie looked slightly sheepish as she called to him. "Nice lesson?"

Neville smiled back at her. "I think so," he replied, joining the queue to leave class.

Susan checked her things carefully, making sure she had definitely packed 'Advanced Spells: Defence Against Dark Magic' for her next lesson. She didn't want to look a fool in front of Professor Snap of all people. The image of Snape threatening to make Neville drink the disastrous remnants of his potion swum into view in her mind's eye. She smiled broadly.

Sure she had everything, she made for the door, only to find Neville standing by it, grinning. He was holding a yellow packet in his hand.

"Erm, cough sweet?"

* * *

Lying back in his chair, Professor Longbottom could only chortle at the memory. He was wasn't exactly surprised to find that she was his official partner for the rest of that project. Oh well, he thought, back to sorting for me then. 

He could only sit and wonder what else his letters would remind him of…

* * *

**Enjoy it, so far?**

**Strange pairing, yes? Well no, not really. I will continue this, promise.**

**I suppose Neville deserves someone, and since Luna is now officially taken (yes, Rolf Scamander/Luna Lovegood is now canon, check one of JKRs webcasts), this came to my mind.**

**Oh, this is indebted to a brilliant fic I read around on this site, which inspired this scene. Please tell me if it was you who wrote it!**


	2. Algie

**Hey! Thanks to my reviewer. I promise I will continue with the pairing, but now, some light relief.**

* * *

Professor Longbottom turned back to his notes, ruffling through them. Choosing one at random, he took it in his hands, and opened the envelope. 

A thin, rather dusty, piece of parchment met his eyes. There were traces of mud on its corners, as its owner, like its reader, was interested in the natural world. Glancing at it, Professor Longbottom began to read:

_Hello lad!_

_Well, well. A professor! I always knew ye had it in ya, boy! I was quite the Herbologist in my day, you know. Your great aunty burst into tears when she read the release, and I still can't believe it! Augusta's young lad, all grown up. I can remember when you were knew high! Course, I can remember when your father was that high, too._

_Oh, Frank would be so proud of ye lad! Do tell him the news when you next see him, aye?_

Neville looked up for a second, picturing his father's still, dark eyes, momentarily filled with great pride.

_As ever,_

_Algie._

Neville noticed something else inside the envelope, and pulled out yet another 

A photo was included. An elderly man, still looking surprisingly chipper for his age, was standing next to a towering, rather gnarled looking, cactus. The man waved up at him, not knowing that his woollen pullover was caught on the spines of the plant.

Below it was printed a few sentences, written in a flowing, vine-like script:

_Can you imagine that you once gave this to me? How's my old cutting coming on?_

Neville looked back at the letter, and noticed something else. There was an after word, hastily crammed in at the bottom of the page, as if its owner had debated whether to include it, then decided after the main test was written.

_P.S, I'm sorry._

"Oh," thought Professor Longbottom, chuckling to himself. "You certainly have a lot to be sorry for."

* * *

"Come on Neville, we haven't got all day!" his grandmother barked at him. Neville, barely eight years old, looked visibly shaken, having just apparated alongside his grandmother on a small, weather-beaten hill in the west of England. His grandmother had simply told him to hang on tight to his plant, and that if he couldn't concentrate then and there, he would certainly 'splinch' himself when he came to performing 

Neville wasn't familiar with the area. For all he knew, his grandmother could be leading him to be executed. Something of this seemed to show on his face, because she turned to him suddenly. "Honestly, Neville," she said. "I really don't know what you're worried about. You've met him before, and besides, great uncle Algie does not eat children."

This merely caused Neville's heart to race even faster.

His grandmother lead the way, hoisting her skirts over low lying thistles and brambles, with Neville stumbling along behind her, clutching a small plant.

Neville had even gone to the trouble of learning its 'proper' name: Mimbulus Mimbletonia. His grandmother had expressively forbidden him to touch it, and, as a safe measure, had secured it with an envelopment charm.

Neville wondered why. It didn't look dangerous. But maybe she was right.

He really hoped great uncle Algie liked it. It had been almost three years since he had seen him last, and even then, Neville had never been to his house.

They continued to walk, following a small footpath, and passing beside a field of corn stained yellow in the summer sun. A few crickets chirruped excitedly in the field, and birds whistled overhead.

A fly buzzed around Neville's head. Neville's eyes followed it, his legs grinding to a halt to watch it fly. His grandmother, plainly irritated, turned around, and pointed her wand at it. The fly fell limp to the ground. "Not dead," she added to Neville's shocked face, shaking her head.

The morning sun was showing through the tree tops as Augusta and her grandson silently walked through a grove of trees. Neville's grandmother stopped, and pointing her wand at a small area of apparently empty, overgrown bushes next to a small country road, muttered a spell.

Neville jumped, as a towering, many storied, house pushed its way into view, like a creature rising from the sea. Augusta acted as if she saw this everyday, but her grandson stood open mouthed.

Neville watched, his mouth still hanging open, as his grandmother walked to the wooden front door, and knocked on the door twice with an old-fashioned style knocker.

A voice called from behind the door. "All right, all right, I'm coming! Give me a second!" There was a fumbling with a latch, and an old man opened the door. He was very tall, and his grey hair, which was parted in the middle, had the consistency of moss. He wore a woollen, navy blue jumper He spoke in a thick west country accent. "Augusta, dear. How be ye?" Neville watched as he shook her hand.

"Very good, Algie. Are you keeping well?"

Algie's hawk-like eyes fell on Neville. Neville shuddered, remembering the time his great uncle had 'accidentally', pushed him off the Blackpool pier when he was five years old.

Neville had to be torn, still struggling like a haddock, through the water by the muggle lifeguards, who lectured him for hours on safety. Apparently gran could do nothing herself since the place was swarming with muggles. What was exactly wrong with them anyway? Gran didn't despise them, quite the opposite even, but she wouldn't stand the notion of having one in the family.

Great uncle Algie had a similar standpoint, and looking up at him, Neville hoped he would not try anything else again. Something glinted in his eyes, however, and Neville was none to sure.

Algie patted him on the shoulder. "Good man." Sticking his head inside, he called to his wife. "Enid, put the kettle on. We've got visitors!"

Neville followed the party into a large kitchen, where moss and vines seemed to crawl up the wall. Despite the vegetation, it seemed a lot cleaner than most wizard houses he had visited with his grandmother. A kettle whistled on the stove, and a wooden spoon absentmindedly stirred itself in a large pan of broth.

Great auntie Enid sat at a small table, quietly reading through the morning copy of The Daily Prophet. "Nice to see you again Augusta," she said, smiling at her sister-in-law. "Oh, and little Neville. My, haven't you grown?" She rubbed his chin as if to prove her point, but Neville knew it was a lie; he felt as small as ever. "I'll take that dear, shall I?" she said, taking the potted plant from Neville and placing it on the windowsill, beside Algie's collection of other exotic species.

Then, in a lower tone, she turned to Augusta, and continued. "No sign?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. Not a trace that he might -"

"Auntie?" said Neville, looking up at her expectantly.

"Oh dear, why don't you go and play with your uncle. I'm sure you'll have fun," she said, in a sweet, reassuring voice.

"Help," thought Neville to himself.

Professor Longbottom leaned backwards, grinning. _And that's when it got really interesting…_

Taking Neville by the arm, Algie lead him up flights of stairs. Neville wondered where they were going. They must be quite high, as he could only distantly hear his grandmother discussing Amelia Bones' recent promotion downstairs. Algie kept walking, leaving little Neville to waddle on behind. Suddenly he stopped, and removing his wand, tapped three times on a nearby door.

The door swung open, revealing a dusty, dirty room, with wide windows and a slight balcony.

"This room," Algie said magnificently, waving his hands around it as if it were a royal place, "is where your father slept when he was here." Neville nodded. He knew what would happen next. They would go into one of their speeches again. Neville knew to keep quiet in them, but he detested them all the same. Neville wondered if he would **ever** live up to the huge expectations his family imagined for him.

Neville walked out onto the balcony, as Algie got increasingly carried away, explaining how brilliant his nephew once was, how he had taken on five Death Eaters simultaneously, how he had rescued a family of muggles from a burning tower block, how he had...

"Wow," thought Neville to himself. "the view is amazing." He could see for miles, across rolling planes, moorland, and forest. It looked like a picture from a book of fairy tales.

"Hey, boy! Why aren't ye listening!" his great uncle called to him, still holding a photo of Frank Longbottom in his cracked hands. Neville looked at him, bemused. Suddenly, a strange change seemed to come over Algie's face. His eyes narrowed, and a strange smile flashed across his face. His nephew in the photo seemed to shout a warning to Neville.

Like a wild animal, Algie lunged forwards and grabbed Neville by the ankles. Neville yelled, as he was quickly suspended in the air, and flipped upside down, held four stories above the garden and road below like a trussed chicken.

He thrashed wildly, squealing like a pig. "Help! Help!" he shouted, weakly.

Algie roughly shook him. "You're a wizard, boy! A WIZARD! I'll never allow a squib in our family!" he roared again and again.

"Uncle Algie, I really do want to be a wizard!" squeaked Neville, his eyes screwed shut. Algie seemed to be of the opinion that he could shake magic into Neville, who felt not dissimilar from a scrambled egg.

"Algie, dear," a voice wafting up from the stairs below said, "I'm dishing out the cakes!"

Algie smacked his lips, and turned from the window. "Mmmm. Don't mind if I do!"

There was a sudden, horrible moment when he realised what he had done. His face turned ashen grey, as he held his hands in the air. "NEVILLE!" he shouted, and practically threw himself to the window, as he watched his grand nephew waving his arms and legs like a giant baby, and fall to the ground as if in slow motion.

Neville was screaming, terrified at being dropped from such a high height. Distantly, he heard a man's voice bellow "LEVI-" but it was cut off as, with a squelching noise, Neville hit the floor.

Expecting to have his brains dashed all over the floor, he felt a strange sensation instead. Instead of being gruesomely killed, he was lying unhurt in the road. Neville dusted himself off, as he watched his grandmother came running up to him from the house, her vulture-topped hat askew.

She took one look at him, then exploded. "YOU ALMOST DIED!" she shouted, shaking him furiously. Neville could only gaup.

Algie appeared from the front door, and ran to stand beside her, smiling. "Augusta, he bounced," he said, his face showing a bizarre mixture of shock, happiness, and pride. "Ye were quite wrong, he's not a squib at all."

Looking at Neville standing there, still shaking, he ruffled his grand nephew's hair playfully. "And he's his father's son, all right."

The corners of Neville's mouth bent upwards in a small smile, his cheeks still flushed pink.

Algie bent down to Neville again. "You deserve a prize for that. How bout a toad Neville?"

* * *

"Nice choice," thought Professor Longbottom, as he felt a familiar friend flop onto his shoe. "Oh Trevor," he said, leaning down and rubbing the toad's head. "What am I ever going to do with you?"

* * *

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**More coming, I promise.**


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